


Peachy Keen

by TiaLewise



Series: Ineffable Brood Series [6]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Family Fluff, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), He/Him Pronouns For Crowley (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Long Live Feedback Comment Project, M/M, Makeup, Other, Parents Aziraphale and Crowley (Good Omens), They/Them Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:33:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22743307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TiaLewise/pseuds/TiaLewise
Summary: Crowley loves nothing more than to pamper and spoil their angel.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Ineffable Brood Series [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1479767
Comments: 6
Kudos: 69





	Peachy Keen

**Author's Note:**

> So I guess this series is going non-chronological now lmao. It came about from a request via a Good Omens Facebook fan page to write something whereby Crowley puts makeup on Aziraphale, and I figured I might as well work it into what I already have here.
> 
> Crowley's pronouns change partway through this, and it's intentional, don't hate on me plz~

Aziraphale is making  _ that face.  _ The one he makes when he is dithering; which chocolate from the box, this tea or that tea. Whenever he makes that face, he is thinking intently.

The only thing is, he's currently doing it whilst nose-deep in  _ Anne of Green Gables,  _ or at least it  _ looks _ like he's nose-deep, but his eyes haven't moved at all, nor has he turned a page, for the last five minutes, and that isn't like him at all. Even Crowley, a staunch bibliophobe, has ventured into this particular book before. It's a nice read, yes, and he'd love for there to be more Marillas in the world, but he can't imagine Aziraphale finding something within its pages to become so fixated upon, to make that indecisive face he usually so adores.

"Penny for your thoughts, angel?"

His gentle tone prompts Aziraphale's eyes to shift ever so slightly sideways to look at him. Nine month old Lucina is nestled in Crowley's arms, half asleep and feeding contentedly, making soft little sucking noises. Crowley strokes a hand over her head absently, still focused on Aziraphale, who is slowly putting his book down into his lap, looking pensive.

"Ah… it's nothing, really, darling. I'm sure I'm just being silly."

Crowley hates those words. Hates that his husband, clever and kind and so full of love to give the world, still beats himself up, taunts himself with words used against him by others. They are all but free, cut loose from their respective head offices, and yet, Aziraphale is always looking over his shoulder, so used to the criticism that he can't,  _ won't, _ let go of it. An anchor that moored him, willing or not.

"Tell me." Crowley leans over to kiss Aziraphale on the cheek. "If  _ you _ think it's silly, then it definitely isn't."

"Well…" Aziraphale fiddles with a button on his pyjamas. "A man came to the bookshop today."

"Holy shit, you had a  _ customer?"  _ Crowley grins. Aziraphale taps him lightly on the arm in amused admonishment.

"Hush, you old serpent, you wanted me to talk, didn't you?"

"Sorry, angel. Carry on."

"Yes. So I was saying...he came in, just browsing, which I always encourage so long as they're not actually buying, of course, and I couldn't help but notice that he had the most  _ lovely  _ makeup."

"Oh?"

"It just made me think, that's all."

Crowley shuffles closer, lays his head on Aziraphale's shoulder. "Nothing too bad, I hope."

"No, not really. Took me back several hundred years, certainly. Do you remember the last time I wore a feminine presenting corporation?"

"Do I ever," Crowley sighs. The court of George III, Aziraphale arm in arm with Fanny Burney, blonde curls teased high and elaborate, plump curves and voluptuous bosom poured into gorgeous gowns, one delightful jiggle away from bursting at the seams...Crowley still blushes hot at the memory to this day, and is willing himself not to do so now. "Debating a new corporation, then?" he ventures.

"Oh, heavens, no. I'm very much comfortable as I am," Aziraphale smiles, shaking his head ruefully. He lifts a hand, strokes Lucina's back. She wriggles in response, just barely awake and starting to release her latch. "Just that I think that may have also been the last time I dabbled in cosmetics of the sort, and it  _ was  _ fun…" 

"Angel, if you want to play with my makeup, knock yourself out, just wash the bloody brushes when you're done with them."

"I'm afraid I wouldn't...really know where to begin," Aziraphale murmurs, wringing his hands, "and you have so much of it...I might be overwhelmed. Perhaps I ought to purchase my own supply. Oh, and how does one flatter a face like mine by modern standards…?" Aziraphale is using his Bastard™ voice, the one he uses when he wants something from Crowley. Luckily for him, he's only too happy to oblige. 

"Alright, you daft thing. We'll go shopping and I'll make you up all pretty, yeah?"

"Oh, would you?  _ Darling,  _ I do cherish you." Aziraphale sighs happily, and Crowley kisses his plush lips, full of loving, motherly hormones and always blissful beside his angel.

* * *

Crowley wakes the next morning with hair shorn severely on the right side, the left side longer, messy and artfully tousled. 

It's a funny thing, really. Ever since Lucina's birth Crowley's corporation seems able to sense the ever-simmering disquiet around the demon's outward identity, and shifts of its own accord. Crowley doesn't mind it. If anything, it takes the bother out of making the change by hand. 

Today, Crowley rises from bed and murmurs a sleepy, "neutral pronouns today, angel," on the way to the coffee machine, and slumps down on the sofa in the back of the bookshop, mug full to the brim. "Are you opening the bookshop?"

"It's not on the agenda, my dear," says Aziraphale brightly as he picks up discarded books and wine glasses, putting them safely out of Lucina's reach while she crawls around curiously. 

"Good." Crowley swigs their coffee. "Lemme finish this and we'll go out."

"Oh? Where to?"

"To get your makeup, of course!" 

Aziraphale pauses. "So soon?"

"No time like the present. Oi, that isn't yours, you little monster." Crowley leans down to pull a fountain pen out of Lucina's mouth. Her lip wobbles and she whimpers, moments away from bursting into tears; Crowley scoops her up and puts her to the breast before she can make a racket. "Anyway, it's like you said," they continue, leaning back into the sofa, "I've got a lot of the stuff, but my style's pretty dramatic, and you... you'd be a subtle wearer, I think. Can't see you sporting red lips and cat eye liner, can you?"

"Quite right, darling," agrees Aziraphale stoutly.

"I'd miracle you up a set, but you'd just pout at me. Weather's not too bad, so let's make a day of it. Go shopping, get some lunch, take Lucie to the park. All that domestic family rubbish you love." 

Crowley loves it, too, but say a single word about it and there'll be hell to pay. The mushy stuff is worth it, though, to see the beatific smile that overtakes Aziraphale in that moment. 

* * *

They do make a day of it, and it's some of the most fun Crowley has had since Lucina was born. They speed round London in the Bentley, diving into department stores and pharmacies alike, spending money that Crowley miracles up without a second thought, earning only the briefest of disapproving looks from their angel that vanish once he has another prissy little bag of makeup to add to the collection gathering in the Bentley's boot. Crowley gets a few things for themself and artfully messes up a few displays whilst they're at it. Serves them right for testing on animals.

After lunch in a quiet café, it's off to St James' Park, where a goggle-eyed Lucina stares at the ducks and breaks into giggles at a particularly loud honk from a grouchy goose in want of bread crusts. Aziraphale puts a hand into his empty coat pocket and pulls out a miracled-up muffin for them to break chunks off of and toss into the water. Lucina stuffs her share into her mouth and wails for more, wings bursting into existence and flapping wildly underneath her cardigan until Crowley whisks her out of the pram for a calming feed.

"Was that the first time she's manifested wings?" Aziraphale wonders back at the Bentley, as he secures Lucina into her car seat. "Do you think anyone noticed?"

"Nah," Crowley says. "You know humans, they only see what they expect to see." Aziraphale finishes with Lucina and slips into the front passenger seat. Crowley reaches over for his hand, pressing a kiss to their husband's knuckles. "They were under her clothes, anyway. Probably be a while till she figures out how to pull them out properly."

"Thank the heavens for that."

"Ugh, don't bring Upstairs into it, angel." 

* * *

Finally, dusk falls on Soho. Lucina is sleeping soundly in her crib, and the fun can begin.

"Ready?"

"Oh, yes."

Crowley smiles stupidly at Aziraphale, at the happy wiggle their angel does in anticipation, moments before Crowley begins patting a damp makeup sponge over his face. "Your skin is damn flawless, angel. Honestly, you never even needed to  _ look  _ at the foundation."

"I  _ wanted  _ to," pouts Aziraphale, and Crowley laughs gently. They'd never deny their angel a thing. 

The pinkish-yellow liquid, more a lotion than a true foundation, glides on and sinks into Aziraphale's skin weightlessly, smoothing and blurring. They don't use a lot. Aziraphale has a stunning porcelain complexion and there is little to gain from slapping a load of the stuff on. Crowley works slowly, methodically, savouring the time spent pampering their darling angel. 

"Eyes next, I think." 

"Okay, dearest."

The sponge is set down and a few brushes picked up. Crowley carefully works a subtle blend of cream and brown into the contours of Aziraphale's eyelids, highlighting just under his brow bone with a sweep of shimmer. Aziraphale giggles and twitches when it's time for mascara, and Crowley has to sigh through a smile and miracle away numerous panda-eyed smudges as a result. 

"Can I look in a mirror?" Aziraphale asks as Crowley buffs blush onto his cheeks.

"Not yet. S'a surprise."

"But-"

"Nope."

"Crowley!"

"Aziraphale!"

Their eyes meet, faces impassive - then they both start laughing. Crowley can't help but steal a quick kiss from Aziraphale's lips before sitting back and putting down the blusher brush. "Right. Lips."

"Shall we use the gloss or the lipstick?"

Crowley frowns at the spread before them. Aziraphale has bought practically the whole NYX counter's worth of lip products, simply unable to choose. "Erm…"

A memory springs to mind. A week after thwarting Armageddon, a week of dancing around each other's feelings following heartfelt confessions that night in Crowley's flat. 

_ You can stay at my place, if you like. _

Kiss-swollen lips, wet with spit and shining in the low light of the bookshop. Crowley being so overcome with passion that they'd tackled the angel, positively jumped him. They'd made love right there on the sofa in the back room, drunk on each other, less so on the wine.

_ To the world. To us. God, yes, to us. _

Crowley settles on a peach-toned gloss, slicking up Aziraphale's soft and pouty lips with a satisfied grin. Ah, yes.  _ There _ are the lips from that fateful night. Perfect. 

A spritz of setting spray to finish the whole thing off, and then Crowley holds up a mirror.

"What d'you think, angel?"

Aziraphale looks rather overcome as he gazes at his reflection. A few tears gather in his eyes, but he blinks and they're gone. He looks up, and smiles at Crowley. 

"You've made me beautiful."

Of course, this statement is wrong, for Aziraphale is  _ always  _ beautiful, but Crowley appreciates the sentiment behind the trembling words nonetheless. 

And when Aziraphale tackles them to the bed, sprawling amidst a pile of cosmetics, Crowley imparts a quick miracle to make their angel's lips taste of peach, too. 

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at me on [Tumblr](https://tia-lewise.tumblr.com/) or [Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/tia.amane) ! I'm always up for a chat.
> 
>   
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